To just call him a friend would belie our relationship. Blood be damned, he was my brother. Ever since my brain has had the capacity to form memories, Jeff Keisling has been a part of them. Our respective mothers considered the other child as their own sons. We had an intensive sibling rivalry growing up. There were also boy scout trips, nights spent at each others houses, playing a D&D type game in homeroom in 6th grade with a few other people, I could go on and on. Then on to our teenage years where we actually drifted apart for a while. We were kids, still trying to figure out who we were. He'd say I disowned him for a little while. And I'd tell him he's full of it. Fortunately by the time we graduated high school we were closer than ever. I basically spent the Summer before college bunking on his couch since my family was stuck in between housing. I went off to Tenneseee Tech in the fall while Jeff did a small stint at NADC before getting a job. I'd spend weekends at home from college at his house after getting off work. It was always a party there. Everyone present shared a similar interest in video games, so there would always be some 4 player battle royale on WCW/NWO World Tour, or everyone would hand me my ass in Goldeneye. We'd get into typical "bro" stuff. You know, the type of dumb shit 18-19 year old men(boys) get into. Those weekend gatherings are still some of my favorite memories. Those days came and went, and Jeff eventually settled down and had a child. A child in his own image, for sure. Michael is just as rambunctious and rough as his father ever was. Years passed and we all still got together when we could. I was still living in Cookeville so my trips home were few and far between. Mostly holidays, special events, that type of thing. But every time I'd come home I'd make it a point to see Jeff. He and his family suffered a huge tragedy in 2008 when the February tornado completely destroyed their home. They lived right across the road from the Columbia Gulf natural gas facility that went up in flames. I went down the following weekend and did my best to help them pick up the pieces. Michael seemed to be making the best of the situation, sitting in the back of his father's truck playing with toys he had just been given. It was a tough time, but Jeff had a resolve that made it seem like he would persevere and overcome. He always had that "get it done" quality in him. There was a certain simplicity to the way he lived his life that I was always a bit envious of. He loved his family, and as long as they were happy he was happy. He didn't need a lot of other stuff. More people should live like that. I'm trying real hard to.
Jeff had recently been encumbered with some personal issues that I won't disclose here. He called me less than two weeks ago and we talked about it for a long time. We spoke frequently in the weeks following. Beth decided it was a good idea to cook him up some meals to take to him. So she did that and I took some them to his house on Sunday and talked to him a good bit more. He was down, but didn't seem to be anywhere near out. I did my best to reassure him that life would go on and that eventually it would get better. I repeatedly told him that I was there if he needed me, and that I was just a phone call away. Not that he had to hear it. He knew.
For some reason that only made sense in his head at the time, Jeff took his life this morning. He didn't immediately succeed, as the paramedics were able to stabilize him and get him on a helicopter to Vanderbilt. Unfortunately there was no brain activity upon arrival. He went to the trauma unit and I was contacted. I drove down as fast as I could.
I knew seeing him wouldn't be pretty. His head was wrapped and he had tubes running out of him everywhere. His mouth lay open with blood oozing out of the corner. His eyes were bruised and swollen with collected blood. He was bloated. He was there, breathing and alive. But he was dead. That's a difficult thing to wrap your head around. My mind started to fantasize that he would open his eyes, move his hand, just something to give us hope. I wished he would just jump up out of bed, shake it off, utter some smartass remark, and keep on going. Academically, I knew it wouldn't happen. The injury was too much. The whirring machines around him were the only things keeping him clinging to life. This big, boisterous, rough around the edges guy that was one of my closest friends was laying there, a shell of himself. And there was nothing anyone could do. Vanderbilt spent the majority of the day attempting to raise his body temperature (apparently the wound severely affected the part of the brain that regulates body temp) and correct his blood PH so they could do a brain activity test on him. Essentially the hospital was doing nothing more than going through the legal motions before pulling the plug. Some in the room maintained hope...and I suppose in desperation people will cling to anything. I knew. I didn't want to give up hope, but I knew it was just a matter of time and I didn't want to burden myself with the inevitable letdown. The test was completed. No activity. Everyone present was invited back to say their goodbyes. We all watched solemnly as staff unhooked him from the machines. His pulse was initially strong, as I could see it in his neck from across the room. His wife and mother hugged him close, pleading with his lifeless body to wake up and breathe again. His face began to pale and turn ashen. The bruising in his eyes gradually from red to a dark purple. The heartbeats started to weaken and ultimately ceased. He died, surrounded by his close friends (brothers) and family. I was lucky enough to be there to see him through to the end, as painful as it was. 31 years old, a life extinguished much too soon.
All day long I've replayed Sunday, the last day I saw him, in my head just to see if there was something I missed. In a sense I feel like I've failed him because I've been specifically trained to see this sort of thing. And he fooled me. I've alternated between crying and being royally pissed at him all day. It's natural. Suicide is an inherently selfish act, and to try and make sense of it is a waste of time. I just hate that he had to feel what he did that made him want to do this. All I know is that tomorrow morning I will wake up without a friend, a boy will wake up without a father, a wife will wake up without a husband, and a mother will wake up without her child. Jeff never got to meet my daughter, and Willa will never get to know "Uncle Jeff".
I would just implore that if you ever get to a point where you feel like killing yourself is the best option, please talk to someone. There is always a better way, and you have no idea the pain and suffering you will leave in your wake if you follow through. Just please, talk to someone.
Jeff was a wonderful husband, father, and son. He kept his circle of friends somewhat small, but was fiercely loyal to those in that circle. He was my brother and I will miss him so much. I love you Jeff. I hope you are at peace.
